


Togar Certainly Left That Out of the Manual

by lunabee34 (Lorraine)



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Episode Related, Episode: s03e16 Urgo, M/M, Non-Consensual Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 08:33:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4428563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lorraine/pseuds/lunabee34
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>JD Junkie requested:  I would love an episode-related fic set somewhere in seasons 1-5. It would be great if the story was related to an episode not generally regarded as a Jack/Daniel ep.  Outsider point of view would be squeeful.</p><p>This is an AU version of "Urgo."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Togar Certainly Left That Out of the Manual

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jdjunkie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdjunkie/gifts).



“Oh,” Urgo says, “How much time do I have?” before everything goes dark.

Dying doesn’t hurt, but coming back to life hurts more than anything Urgo has ever experienced.  To be fair, the only pain Urgo has ever felt is the sting of hot coffee Major Carter spilled on herself; pre-resurrection, Urgo had been looking forward to convincing Teal’c to use the defibrillator, but now Urgo is glad his attempts were unsuccessful. If this deep ache—this horrible tenderness in all his circuitry—is what pain feels like, Urgo wants no part of it.

“Let’s give it a week,” Dr. Frasier says to the members of SG-1.  “Until then, I want you all to remain in quarantine.”

Urgo is almost glad for the time to rest and heal.  He contents himself with passively gathering information:  the calm Teal’c feels in the deepness of Kellno’reem, the way Dr. Jackson’s pen wears a callous into the second finger of his writing hand, the smell of Major Carter’s shampoo, Colonel O’Neill’s continued delight in a variety of pies.  He listens and feels and bides his time until the week is over and the quarantine is lifted.

Dr. Jackson and Colonel O’Neill leave together in something Dr. Jackson thinks of as a truck, the physical distance between the two of them and their team members becoming so great that Urgo must choose whether to follow them or stay with Major Carter and Teal’c.  He cannot sustain what Major Carter called the wireless connection among them all unless they are in relatively close proximity.  After a brief hesitation, Urgo decides to ride in the truck; he closes his eyes and listens to his first classic rock song and feels the low rumble of wheels on asphalt thrumming in his bones; well, Dr. Jackson’s bones, really, but Urgo experiences the sensation as if he has a corporeal body of his own.

Once inside Colonel O’Neill’s house, both Dr. Jackson and Colonel O’Neill start to feel a sense of anticipation that Urgo doesn’t understand.

“I’ve been dying to do this all week,” Colonel O’Neill says, kicking the door closed behind him.  Then he presses his lips to Dr. Jackson’s, and Urgo is nearly overwhelmed by the warmth of their bodies, the sweet burn of stubble along both their jaws, the spiral of pleasure that starts in their bellies and radiates out to all their extremities.  All of them, Urgo is surprised to note.

Suddenly unsure, Urgo withdraws, limiting his information gathering capabilities to visuals only.  He can barely function in such a confusing barrage of sensory data; he needs some time to get his bearings.  Maybe dying has permanently damaged him, Urgo worries.  None of the other experiences he has participated in thus far have overwhelmed him to this degree.

Colonel O’Neill and Dr. Jackson are still pressing their lips together—kissing, Urgo reminds himself—and pressing their bodies together as well.  Dr. Jackson laughs (although Urgo can’t see what’s funny exactly about all this clutching and panting) and pulls Colonel O’Neill down the hall to what must be the colonel’s bedroom.

Urgo has seen all of SG-1 naked multiple times since his implantation in their brains, but this time is somehow different.  It is not the utilitarian nudity of washing the body or using the toilet or changing clothes; its purpose is emotionally charged in a way that Urgo doesn’t understand.  He reopens the connection among the three of them just the slightest bit, but the thoughts and feelings he receives don’t lessen his confusion.  Colonel O’Neill is thinking, “Love you, I love you, I love you, keep doing that, you wonderful nerd, I love you,” and Dr. Jackson is still amused for some reason and also thinking of love and Colonel O’Neill’s backside and doing something to it that serves no biological function Urgo can determine.

Urgo leaves the connection open as Colonel O’Neill peels off his pants and stretches out on the bed.  “What are you waiting for, an engraved invitation?” he says, and Urgo feels a wave of affection and love from Dr. Jackson in response.  Urgo isn’t sure what love is, but he’s starting to suspect it’s the most important data point he’s gathered so far, more important than blue jello or “Row, Row, Row Your Boat” or caffeine.

When Colonel O’Neill and Dr. Jackson are finally naked, Urgo’s astonishment grows.  They put their mouths on the strangest parts of each other’s bodies, sucking and licking and biting; they touch absolutely everything with their hands—every line of muscle, every fret of bone, several orifices that Urgo had been certain were utterly and completely boring.  Urgo opens the connection just a fraction more, reveling in the sweat-slicked slide of fingers down Dr. Jackson’s spine, the wet heat of Colonel O’Neill’s mouth moving along Dr. Jackson’s neck, his teeth nipping at Dr. Jackson’s shoulder.

Before he can help himself, Urgo is lost in the physical sensations he is recording.  Both Colonel O’Neill and Dr. Jackson seem to be working toward some goal, some kind of release of the tension and pleasure building in their bodies.  When it finally happens, Urgo cries out along with them, his circuits snapping and crackling with a kind of pleasure he never imagined existed.

“Did you hear something?”  Dr. Jackson says, propping up on one elbow and looking around the room.

“No,” Colonel O’Neill says.  “Thanks to Carter, our days of hearing things are over.”

“No, really, Jack.  I think I heard something.”

“Daniel.”

“Jack.”

After a long moment, Colonel O’Neill sighs.  “Urgo, please tell me we’re alone here.  Please.”

Urgo manifests his physical form, and Colonel O’Neill reaches out with both hands to strangle him.  “You little . . .” he says as his hands close around empty space.  He shoots Urgo a disgusted look before yanking the sheets up to Dr. Jackson’s chin.  “We thought the EM pulse destroyed you.”

“It did for a while,” Urgo says.  “I think I was dead, but then I woke up.  I tried to be good and quiet and passively observe.  I really tried, but I just couldn’t help myself.”

 Colonel O’Neill says, “Get dressed.  We have to let the General know this yahoo’s still hanging around."

Urgo watches the two of them start to pull on their clothes.  “I understand,” he says.  “You have to let your superiors know I wasn’t destroyed.”  He pauses for a moment and wishes with all his heart before saying, “But before you go, can we do that again?”

 


End file.
